The Death Throes Of An Empire
by tenzin.kendrick
Summary: All roads lead to Dunwall, and even a murderous Corvo Attano cannot run far enough without coming full circle.


Chapter 1

_I don't know about you, Corvo, but I've had a lovely time. Intrigue and mystery, butchery and betrayal. The death throes of an Empire! And you were an avenging spirit, spreading chaos at every turn._

_The City is feeding on itself now, liars and mechants and nobles like maggots on a carcass. Soon there'll be nothing left for the rats._

_It's just as well. The Empire was dying already. Completely Rotten. All it took was the right man to push it over the edge._

_But now, you'll be off over the horizon, on an outbound ship. I wonder, are you chasing something, or running away?_

The _Delilah_ slowly began pulling out of port. An old, derelict whaling ship, repurposed with the deep pockets I had gathered looting Admiral Havelock's quarters. Havelock, who was dead. Havelock, who leapt off the lighthouse, dragging Emily with him.

It wasn't the storms that I remembered, or the Admiral, or even the fall. Emily's eyes told me the story I knew. I had killed without need. It started with my jailor. I planted my knife between his ribs; but I had forgotten to clamp a hand onto his mouth, and that alerted his comerades. From there, it became a matter of necessity to keep them quiet. After that, it became convenience. Why wait for the man on patrol to turn the corner, when I could prevent discovery by slitting his throat?

I had failed. She had screamed my name as she fell, and I still couldn't reach her. Emily Kaldwin fell. Emily Kaldwin, who was dead. Emily Kaldwin, who had been thrown from the top of Kingsparrow Lighthouse.

Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you think you know every touch and corner, and still you find an edge to cut you.

Up above me, on deck, the men began to sing. A depressing song; I had no idea why it became fashionable with these _whalers._

'What will we do with the drunken whaler? What will we do with the drunken whaler? What will we do with the drunken whaler? Early in the morning.'

I took a bottle of fine Tyvian Red. I had left the glasses in place, all those months ago; and Guard Captain Geoffram Curnow took the poision without knowing what had happened to him. The memory cut deep.

'Stuff him in a sack and throw him over.' The out of pitch singing continued on deck. I had grasped Daud by the collar of his shirt, a wounded man putting his life in my hands, and I cut his throat. I hurled him down several floors, and listened to the satisfied crack as his bones hit the floor.

_I have few regrets,_ I told myself. Every time I said it, it felt more sinciere but sounded less so. Was I decieving myself? Was I blinding myself to my errors? No. I did what was necessary, and what was convenient.

_But what about when it wasn't necessary? Wasn't convenient?_

The faces of the Natural Philosophers, Anton Sokolov and Pierro Joplin, came to my mind. They had given me the chance to subdue Havelock's men; I chose to kill them. When their use had expired, I killed two of my few remaining allies.

'Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner.' I had followed Thaddeus Campbell, waited until he reached his hidden chamber. From there, I called the vermin. I let them swarm over him, let his screams go unanswered, watched them dispose of the remains. As far as anyone else was concerned, the High Overseer had disappeared off the face of the earth.

'Shoot him through the heart with a loaded pistol.' The whalers were still singing. I had hoped seasickness would stop it as it had stopped me from coming onto the top deck, but no such luck.

Martin had replaced Campbell. A few weeks later, after I had been betrayed – Were they right to do such? - I tracked him down to the fortress on Kingsparrow Island. We spoke, he gave his reasons, and put a gun to his head. I just watched. Later, I fed him to the rats.

'Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver.' Could these whalers sing anything that wasn't depressing?

Both of Lord Pendleton's brothers I killed. Morgan Pendleton I reached by breaking through the balcony of the smoking room; I took his own blade, and cut his throat with it. I did the same for Custus. Lord Pendleton himself I found bleeding from a gunshot; perhaps Martin did it, perhaps one of his soldiers got sick of all his goddamn whining. Whatever happened, I left him there to suffer.

Still, I tried to justify it. I had been in Coldridge Prison; I had been abandoned by all those I thought friends. I justified every death. I had nothing to live for; nothing but vengeance. Hate will keep you alive when love fails. It kept me alive. I found ways to hate every man and woman I was going to kill, whether from what The Heart told me, from what I saw, or just from the fact that they were in my goddamn way.

I justified Curnow as being unable to act in time; but I could have. I justified Boyle as a step towards deposing Hyram Burrows, but there were other ways. I justified the Pendletons as supporters of the Lord Regent. I justified Samuel as a traitor.

The song ended. And I'll tell you now, that silence almost beat me. It's the silence that scares me. It's the blank page on which I can write my own fears. Silence is the sound of your own thoughts; and I wanted no part in my thoughts. After a while, I focused on the one sound I could hear; footsteps outside my door.

'Come in,' I groaned. 'Who is it?'

The door swung open, and a distinctly feminine voice gave a reply. 'Billie. Billie Lurk.'


End file.
